entirely. That's me! I--"

"Sit down," roared Geoffrey.

"Oh, it's nothing, nothing," said McVay, "only I talk better on my
feet."

"Well, you wouldn't talk as well with a bullet in you."

McVay sank back again in his chair. "Yes," he said, "that's me. Why,
Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number
of things that I can do--that I am really proficient in. Anything with
the hands," he waved his fingers supplely in the air, "is no trouble to
me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a
lifetime to acquire."

"I'm told there's work for all where you are going."

McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself
to remain at a loss, he said:

"Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian
Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part--"

"I had reference to the penitentiary," said Geoffrey.

"Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in
the penitentiary. You don't admit that, I suppose, with your
conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other
great creative artist,--sculptor or financier. I see you don't quite get